66. Matvey

66

MATVEY

From the second I leave April behind, everything turns into a daze.

Grisha corners me in front of the elevator. "Are you really okay with this? There's no going back, you know. After you marry her."

Goddamn Grisha. Even right at the end, he has to find a way to get on my nerves.

When he tries to get on the elevator with me, I bark, "You stay here. Guard her. Make sure she doesn't leave."

After a moment's hesitation, Grisha bows. "As you wish, moy pakhan. "

I have Yuri drive me to the Hedoneros Club instead.

When we get there, I notice the place has been classed up from head to toe. Good. It wasn't exactly wedding-appropriate before. It was just the first venue available on such short notice—the only one that wasn't the hotel, at least. And I wasn't going to do this at the hotel.

Not with April just one floor below.

My mind swims as I head to the rooftop. Yuri tries to talk to me, "Motya?—"

"Don't," I snarl. "Whatever you're going to say, don't say it."

He obediently shuts up.

My brother. I've never felt so conflicted about him in my life. I love him and I hate him. Why did he have to make me do this? Why did he have to go and fall for the only person he shouldn't?

Why did he have to make me promise ?

Would it have mattered? a disillusioned voice whispers at the back of my head. Even if he didn't force you into a promise, would you have told her?

… No.

It's as clear as day now: I wouldn't have. I shouldn't have.

Because, all along, I was right. April isn't family. She isn't blood. And she isn't someone I can trust.

I opened my heart to her once. Once. I told her about my past, about my scars—and what did she do with it?

She threw it all back in my face.

Clenching my fists, I walk up to the aisle. Every guest I pass looks uncomfortable. There is tension on everyone's faces… everyone but Vlad. He looks overjoyed. Pleased as punch, really. We're so close now. So close to getting what we've always wanted. Me, my Bratva—and that viper Petra, too.

Petra. A sadder-looking bride, I have never seen. Not even when she ran away the first time around, or when she was binging tarts in the kitchen with mascara tracks all over her face.

If possible, Yuri looks even sadder.

It's a wretched affair, all of it. As the priest goes through his spiel, I feel like my head is underwater. When it comes to repeating after him, Petra has to kick me awake.

And when it comes to saying, "I do," we both hesitate.

But it's just two words. Two words and a death sentence.

I say them.

Petra says them, too.

Then the crowd erupts in cheers.

"Not drinking?" Petra asks me, following my gaze to the open bar.

Have I been that obvious in my staring? "Neither are you," I point out.

"If I could, we wouldn't be here."

Right. The baby.

"Didn't figure you for the maternal type," I jab. "Observing the rules, taking care of another being."

"The child's innocent," she mutters. "We are the guilty ones."

"Speak for yourself," I spit. "I didn't do anything to land myself in this mess."

"Last I heard, you had a kid on the way, too."

I grit my teeth. As always, Petra's never more unnerving than when she's right. It's the only reason I haven't followed Vlad's example in downing the entire open bar—the only reason I'm here, enduring her, instead of methodically killing my liver and my clarity.

Because today, I have a child on the way.

My child. It's the one thing that's been keeping me going through all of this mess. The thought that I'm finally going to meet them.

Tonight. In a few short hours.

But it's still too goddamn long.

Yuri joins us. He hands Petra a mocktail and then turns to me. "Your phone's ringing," he points out.

I glance at the display. A spark of annoyance flashes through me at the sight of Grisha's name. "Jesus Christ, doesn't he know when to fucking quit?"

Irritated, I refuse the call and pocket my phone again.

"What are you going to do now?" I snark then at the unhappy couple. "I saved your ass, but it won't last."

"Motya," Yuri pleads.

"Is the child going to grow up calling me ‘Dad'?" I taunt. "Are you going to be ‘Uncle Yuri' for the rest of your life, brother?"

"Stop."

"Or are you planning to wait until the old man croaks to finally step up?"

Someone grabs my tie.

I expect it to be Yuri. I expect him to yank my collar and punch me in the face, give me an excuse to finally vent my anger. With my fists, the only way I know how.

But it's not Yuri.

"Thank you," Petra whispers against my lips, making it look as if we're about to kiss. "For all you've done. I'm not just saying that, Matvey. I truly mean it."

"I sense there's a ‘but' coming."

"But," she hisses, "I'll have to ask you to hold yourself to the same standard you've held me to."

"Which is?" I growl.

"To not disrespect what's mine."

I almost want to laugh. I could snap Petra's wrist with two fingers if I wished to. And yet, here she is—defending her territory tooth and nail. Fangs and claws.

Yuri pales. "Petya, stop?—"

"A toast!" Vlad yells, drawing all eyes to us. "To the newlyweds!"

Quickly, Petra releases her grip.

"I should kill you for what you've just done," I whisper into her ear. "You know that, right?"

She goes as white as my brother.

"But I won't."

All along, something else had been spinning in my head—the suspicion that Petra orchestrated this whole thing. That she fucked my brother over just so she could fuck me over afterwards.

That she was going to break his heart.

But no matter how good she is, she could never fake this . This consuming urge to protect.

I know—because I've felt it, too.

Petra exhales with relief. By her side, I watch Yuri do the same.

"This time, at least," I add, low and dangerous.

The couple seems to heed my warning. With two quick nods, they disperse.

Who'd have thought? In this whole mess, someone's found a crumb of happiness after all. Sure as fuck wasn't me, though.

I almost give in and head to the bar when my phone rings again. "Goddamn Grisha," I mutter. I shut it off.

The induction isn't for a while. If it's truly life-and-death, someone will risk their neck to come get me at my own wedding.

If it's not, I don't want to hear it. Not today.

I have my own crumb of happiness waiting for me.

After I meet my kid, I tell myself. After I meet my kid for the first time, I'll handle anything that comes my way.

Whatever it is, it can wait until then.

Right?